Azure Crimson
by Ayukina S. Leonhart
Summary: This beautiful and most wonderful piece was created by my beloved. Memories of a Wizard about what he must choose between the most powerful magic in all of Rune Midgard or a priestess... Reviews will be greatly appreciated.


**Azure Crimson**

It has been foretold by the Gods. A great evil shall overwhelm the world of Rune-Midgard.

No one knows for sure when exactly it will happen, however the sudden and recent increase of the world's monsters, both in population and in sheer bloodthirsty ferocity, as well as the emergence of new, even more dangerous and unnatural entities, proves once and for all that it is very serious, very real, and very soon to come.

In preparation, the people train themselves for war. At a tender age of seven each person begins, learning basic combat skills and knowledge at the special Rune-Midgard Academy set up by the king himself. By age twelve, he or she is sent off to one of the six major cities to begin specialist training in the job of his or her choice.

Knights, valiant and steadfast warriors, who with great physical strength and endurance are designed to brave and withstand the assault of several adversaries head-on.

Assassins, agile and cunning vagabonds, who use quick wits and even quicker hands, feet, and body to confuse and quickly decimate an opponent.

Hunters, wielders of the bow and arrow, who can easily take out a target from afar with one precise and powerful shot.

Wizards, commanders of the powerful and unseen mystical forces that shape this world known as Magic, able to destroy entire fields of enemies using mere incantations and hand gestures.

Priests, special servants of the gods, to whom are entrusted a portion of their power, and with it the ability to instantly heal their comrades' wounds and strengthen their abilities with a simple prayer.

Blacksmiths, resourceful businessmen who, while practicing the ways of close combat as knights and assassins do, also use their skills of trade and commerce as well as the ability to forge weapons to supply and equip their comrades with all their material needs.

Together, they shall fight back the catastrophe that threatens to end their world in destruction.

Together, they shall face the coming of Ragnarok.

"Where am I?"

Regis looks around him; however there is nothing to see. Save for the small circle of white at his feet, all is pitch-black. A few steps here and there, arms groping about yield nothing.

Unfazed by the ominous darkness, Regis thinks back for a moment. As usual, he was at the library of the city of Geffen, the homebase of wizards like himself, where as mages, student wizards, they train and study until, upon mastery of the required skills, they gain the title of Wizard and along with it access to more complex and powerful magic. He was reading through a book at a table, reviewing to himself some basic laws of magic elemental composition. _Against Fire-elemental creatures, Water-elemental spells are effective in dispatching them, and Earth spells as well as Water spells cannot be used; against Wind-elementals, Earth has twice the offensive power while Wind and Water have little to no power; none of these four magic elements that they are trained in are much use against creatures of the Holy or Dark element. How to get that spell that ignores all these annoying rules... _Once again, a late-night study. Once again, his eyes, already laced with purple bags, were drooping; his head was falling of his shoulders with fatigue…

"Goodbye!"

Regis turns around. Before him, about fifteen paces away, stands a little girl, about seven years of age, with long dark blue hair and dressed in a plain gray shirt, brown shorts and boots, the standard uniform for the young students of the Rune-Midgard Academy. Her back is turned, and she's waving her arms.

"Um, excuse me," Regis calls out. He takes a few steps towards her yet the girl remains the same distance away. She is still waving her arms; apparently she did not hear him. _Odd_, Regis thinks to himself. He looks a little further into the distance.

He sees a boy, also about seven years of age, with bright red, well-groomed short hair and clad in the same student's uniform as the girl. Also his back is turned, but he is walking seemingly away from the girl although his distance from her does not seem to change either.

"Excuse me, friends," Regis calls out again. "Perhaps you two know where we are?"

No answer.

"Goodbye!" the girl says over and over again, still waving. The boy is still walking away, yet still not moving from his spot. Puzzled, Regis continues to observe them. _Is it just me, or do those kids look familiar?_

Then the girl calls out one last time. "I pray that you become a great wizard someday, Regis!"

"What?" Regis says in surprise. He looks again, but the two children are gone. Anxiety and bewilderment propels itself in a loud voice. "What's going on here?"

"Help!" the girl's voice echoes loudly in the darkness. Regis turns towards the voice and sees the same blue-haired girl, this time a little older, about nine years old. She's running frantically from a large brown monkey, menacing in appearance with a great sharp-toothed maw and shrill war scream. As before, their running does not shift their positions at all. Standing nearby is the red-haired boy, also a little older and this time dressed in a long light brown robe, characteristic of one who is a mage. With a face as flustered with panic as that of the girl, he is methodically but haphazardly waving his arms in the air, and loudly reciting archaic-sounding poems often interrupted by periods of stuttered forgetfulness.

More of these scenes involving the boy and girl begin to appear scattered about in the darkness, each illuminated by its own circle of light.

"Wow, impressive!" the girl says in amazement. After a few failed attempts, the boy finally succeeds in casting a spell; in front of his outstretched palm, small slivers of ice slowly materialize and hover gently in midair. With childlike glee, the girl claps her hands in applause. "What else did they teach you? Do another one!"

"May we rest first?" The girl, exhausted from practicing the academy's basic combat training together with the boy, flops down seated onto the ground. "I'm sorry…" she says apologetically. The boy, a few steps away, simply gives a smile as he walks back and takes a seat beside her.

"A Flower Ring? For me?" the girl exclaims as she receives the present from the boy; a small circular wreath of dark green leaves decorated with bright red roses along its circumference, which she wears on her wrist "Thank you so much!" she says as she hugs the boy and gently kisses him on the cheek.

"It's too bad you have to leave for Geffen again soon," the girl says. She and the boy are seated on a bench in a garden just outside the white stone walls of their home city, Prontera. "So when will you be back again?"

All around Regis, the globes of light dance about in the darkness like twinkling stars across a clear evening sky. The piercing silence is gently dispersed with each sentence the girl speaks, her voice playing in Regis' ear softly and beautifully as a nightingale's song. The anxiety in his mind soon melted away, replaced by a light peaceful smile as he viewed and listened to each scene.

A name appears in Regis' memory. A name as graceful and beautiful as a gently falling snowflake. A name associated with the humble yet magnificent elegance of long dark blue hair. A name he has cherished and shall continue to cherish for years to come…

"Ayuki…"

Suddenly, one globe of light disappears. "What the? Hey!" Regis cries out in surprise. A second, a third, a fourth globe disappears "Don't go yet!" Regis reaches for one globe and tries to grab it, but his arms fall onto nothing as that globe disappears too. A sixth, a seventh, an eighth. Little by little the comforting bright light becomes haunting black darkness again. Little by little the peaceful, musical silence becomes eerie, disturbing deafness again.

Regis looks around again. For some reason, his heart begins to grow heavy, as if the darkness all around is weighing down on him, threatening to crush him.

A deep, proud voice suddenly shatters the silence. "Is something the matter, Regis?"

Again in surprise Regis turns to face the voice. "What the…?" he says in wide-eye shock.

Before him, a mere five paces away, is a young man with short well-groomed red hair, save for a few thin clumps hanging over the right side of his handsomely-defined face. Over a red shirt and brown pants he wears an intimidating large beige cape and a smaller brown muffler with a tall collar about his shoulders; all of these are lined and intricately decorated with thin strips of gold. With arms folded across his chest, he stands proud and tall, as befitting a wizard.

Baffled to no end, Regis feels like he is staring into a full-length mirror. For the man standing before him is none other than himself!

"Who are you?" Regis shouts at the double. "And why are you copying me?" the questions were rapidly piling up in his mind like never before. "Where the heck am I?"

"All in due time, my good man, all in due time," the double answers calmly, clearly unfazed by Regis' threatening tone. "I appear before you now in order to give you a reminder. A reminder of the glorious achievement only you can fulfill.

"Even as a fledgling mage, your talent at wielding the elemental magic arts was quite apparent. All your peers and even the elder wizards marveled at the ease with which basic spells and even some advanced spells came to your mastery. This and the enthusiastic support of your mentors enabled you to grow quickly in both magical skill and power. While most mages attain the qualifications needed to attempt the wizard initiation test by age twenty-five, you were able to do so at the unbelievably early age of eighteen. Not only that; whereas the few who actually passed it took several tries, you cleared it in a mere one."

Regis smiles. Indeed, he is proud of his achievement.

"Now that you are a wizard," the double continues, "You have set your sights to a far greater achievement. An achievement so difficult, even the greatest wizards of ancient history have either given up, or have wasted their lives miserably in the attempt. An achievement so powerful, the fiery depths of Hell itself tremble at the mere mention of its name. An achievement that I am sure only someone of your caliber can accomplish."

_Yes, I remember this one_, Regis thinks to himself. Legends speak of it: a very powerful attack spell that not only amplifies the user's magic power to twenty times its original strength, but also bypasses all the laws of elemental composition entirely, making it usable against any foe. However, the sheer difficulty of this spell has prevented most, if not all wizards from trying to learn it; slowly all memory of its existence has vanished. Just recently in the midst of his research, Regis has found a very old book, estimated to be more than a millennium old from its hole-rotten cover and fragile, dirt-ridden pages, hidden in a far-flung corner of the Geffen Magic Library's basement. In it, he has found a written account of the existence of this spell of legend, as well as several incomplete and untested theories on how to unlock it. _If everything in this book is true, then it's precisely what I've been searching for all this time…!_ Attracted by its apparent ability as well as relishing the challenge that it poses, Regis resolves to gain the spell of legend.

"Ultima."

"Yes indeed, the spell of Ultima," the double says as he offers his hand. "Come, I shall help you in your quest for Ultima."

With a face of determination, Regis steps forward towards the double. His first step, however, lands on something soft. "Hm?" he kneels down to pick up the object.

It is a small rag doll. Made of old and yellowed pieces of used clothing, buttons, and yarn, and messily stitched together, it looks as if a child has made it. It poorly resembles a boy with neat, bright red hair in an academy student's uniform.

Regis' smile disappears. Again his heart grows heavy. He stops walking.

"Is something the matter, my dear Regis…?" the double says. His face is now a disappointed, moody frown.

Regis remains silent, eyes fixed on the little doll in his hand.

"That 'friend' of yours is but a mere distraction." The double's voice carries an air of subtle yet forceful authority. "Remember, you did not need friends to gain the title of wizard; likewise you need the help of no one to learn Ultima. This strong focus of mind is precisely what makes you powerful! Solitude is what shall allow you to gain its power and glory! To pollute it with thought of this mere girl will only lead to your downfall!

"Besides," the double says as he snaps his finger. "Is it not this that you are truly after…?"

Regis looks up. Instead of the unending darkness, he now sees a vast, barren field of charred and reddened earth. The sky and the horizon glow with a sickening blood red. In the distance he sees several people; knights, assassins, hunters, wizards, priests and blacksmiths, a large army of warriors, with weapons drawn and battle stances and formations at the ready, staring intently at the horizon. Even from afar, it is obvious what they must have been through; clothes, armors and skin battered and torn, shoulders rising and falling with heavy breathing, some of them already shivering with a great effort to merely stand up.

Then it comes. The thin line of the horizon suddenly wriggles to life with shapes. A vast number of large and intimidating shapes. Shapes that denote some of the most dangerous and fearsome creatures to walk the face of Rune-Midgard.

Minorous. Monstrous demonic entities with the arms and torso of a man but the legs and head of a bull. Burning with a fiery orange-red aura, they use giant steel hammers to crush anything in their path.

Raydrics. Rusted bronze armors of defeated soldiers, brought to life with a murderous bloodlust by an unknown dark power. Armed with broadswords and longbows, they have been known to bring an entire fortified castle to its knees.

Orcs. A race of monstrous humanoid creatures that thrives on warfare and destruction. With thick leather-hard green or blue skin, powerful muscular bodies, and a nigh-unstoppable rage, they are a force to be feared.

Abysmal Knights. Large ghostly black armored warriors mounted on equally gigantic armored black horses. Even just one of these minions of Hell is enough to completely decimate a whole party of seasoned adventurers in the blink of an eye.

With the amazing speed of lightning and the thunderous roar of a tidal wave, these and many more monsters charge down upon the line of tired and injured warriors by the thousands. Valiantly they stand; giving every last drop of energy they can muster to stop the oncoming horde. Knights, assassins and blacksmiths, forming with their presence a continuous unbroken wall, engage three or four enemies at a time in close combat, with priests healing their wounds as quickly as they are inflicted. From behind this front line, hunters quickly pick off individual targets and wizards, after a much-needed pause, unleash their most powerful spells and remove as many as ten targets at once. Yet wave after furious wave of monsters kept on coming. Little by little the frontlines grew tired; the priests, also fatigued, could not keep up with the injuries their comrades were sustaining; the hunters were running out of arrows; the wizards could no longer maintain the concentration they need to cast their spells. One by one the defenders of Rune-Midgard fell until none of them were left. And their last brave struggle has proved futile; the horde is still just as immense. Onward it moves like a black pestilence-filled carpet covering the land, slowly but surely destroying everything in its way.

Regis stands frozen at the sight. _Even just one of any of these monsters is too much for me to handle, but an entire swarm of them? If this is indeed the Ragnarok that everyone is preparing for, then I am still too weak, as helpless as that army of warriors that just got wiped out before my very eyes, helpless to protect anything let alone this world. Helpless to even protect-_

"Hm. Is that all…?" the double says calmly yet haughtily as he raises his arm upward and points his open hand at the oncoming swarm. In front of his palm, a small ball of red lightning begins to form.

Then the double cries out. "Behold, the power of Ultima!" Suddenly a blinding white light envelops everything; Regis, the double, the horde of monsters, the red earth and sky are all swallowed by it.

Slowly, Regis opens his eyes. In awe and disbelief, he surveys his surroundings. Bits and pieces of shattered Raydric armor scattered all over, the massive bulks of the Minorous sprawled on the ground, multitudes of Orc bodies face-down in the mud, nothing left of the Abysmal Knights save a few large pieces of black scrap metal and cloth, the thousands of other monsters all crumpled up on the red earth, lifeless and unmoving. The invincible horde of monsters is defeated! The nigh-unstoppable swarm has been stopped! By a simple gesture, just one spell! He was amazed, very amazed; _the Legend is true!_

"And it shall be yours," says the double. Slowly, the scorched land and red sky disappear, replaced once more by the endless darkness. He approaches Regis, and this time offers the red globe of lightning in his hand. "You need only to focus. Flush out all unnecessary things from your mind. And thus unburdened, step forward."

A small sphere, no bigger than an apple. A pure white core, sending out little lightning bolts that end abruptly on a dark red, transparent glass-like outer layer. The core pulses regularly like a healthy beating heart; each vibration seems to send out wave after wave of pure unchecked energy, as if the power of a thousand gods is trapped inside, violently forcing its way out.

_It's what I have been searching for in my entire career as a wizard. Many a sleepless night, many a tedious, tiring and lonely day have I spent endlessly pouring over every book, formulating and testing every outlandish and dangerous theory, shaking my head miserably at the sometimes uncontrollably destructive, often non-existent, and always unsatisfactory results, shrugging off all my colleagues' suggestions to "give up this madness", and despite all this heartrending fruitlessness, try and try again. Almost ten years since the question first dawned on me as a wizard, almost ten years since my elder mentor reluctantly pointed out the existence of the old book to me, almost ten years since I have begun searching nonstop for the answer. And now it's right here in front of me. And I want it. I WANT IT! I will have it! The most powerful magic in the world!_

Softly but clearly, Regis hears the voice of the girl once again. "Why again do you want to become a wizard?"

Regis pauses. A blurred yet strong memory of a moment long ago sparks in his mind; _she has asked me that before_. He turns around, hoping to see the blue-haired girl once more. Sure enough, much to his delight, she is there, this time dressed in a fitted brown shirt, beige muffler, and an equally beige-colored long skirt, the mark of an acolyte, a student priest. This time she is facing forward, towards Regis. With back turned, the red-haired boy in the mage's uniform is there also, standing in front of the girl. With a thin smile, she looks at the boy. Her eyes, shadowed by her hair, cannot be seen. They are bathed in a gentle blue-white light.

"Yes, I know we all have to prepare for Ragnarok," the girl answers, as if the boy had actually said something despite his silence. She nods, as if looking at the ground; her smile is gone, replaced by a slight but pained frown.

"Not just Rune-Midgard," the boy finally speaks. "When that time comes, I want to be able to protect you as well."

"Why not be a knight, then?" the girl says. "The town where they get their training is barely a half hour's journey from here. Or even a priest, you could stay right here in this city!"

"I don't have the strength or endurance to make it as a knight. And sad to say, I'm not interested in being a priest. My talent is in using magic. Besides, anyone can protect others, so long as they have the will to do so, right?"

"True." Her smile returns.

"How about you, why do you want to become a priestess?"

"Well… I guess it's my only way to repay the kindness the Prontera Church has shown me for taking me in when my parents died when I was five. I want to be able to help out other people the way they helped me, Ragnarok or no Ragnarok. Also," A faint blush of red appears on her cheeks as she raises her head to look at the boy; the shadow over her face disappears, revealing her large, round, dark blue eyes, shining with tenderness. "I want to thank you for being my friend. I don't know why, but when we were kids I couldn't get along with anyone our age except you. And even though you were part of the rich and high society and your parents and other friends objected to your visiting a "poor dirty orphan", you snuck out of your house and came to the orphanage to play with me anyway. So when the time comes, I want to be able to help you as well. As a Priestess."

She takes a step closer then hugs him. He hugs her back as well.

"Oh, yes. I'd like you to have this," the girl says as she steps back. She gives him a little rag doll. The same doll Regis found in the darkness earlier. "Promise you won't forget me?"

"I promise," the boy says as he receives the doll. "I'd like to give you something too. Promise you won't forget me either?"

"I promise too," she answers happily as she receives his present. A little stone, transparent as glass, with a shining dark blue jewel at its center. The light that the jewel reflects creates intricate blue-white patterns that dance playfully in the glass.

One more look, then they hug each other once more.

_Yes, I remember all this too,_ Regis says to himself, a look of contented peace on his face.

Having relished the nostalgic scene, Regis turns his attention back to the Ultima spell. However it is no longer within arm's reach; it and the double are now some fifty paces into the distance, and slowly but surely inching away.

"Such is the price of indecision, my good Regis," the double says as his voice echoes across the darkness. "Ironic, isn't it? Only by forsaking everything, including that girl, will you have enough time and energy to research and obtain Ultima, and with it protect this world and her from Ragnarok. But without Ultima, even if you do live your short pathetic little lives together, you will never be able to save anyone, not yourself, not this Rune-Midgard, not even that girl, from the fated death and despair that is Ragnarok. Either way, you will still lose her."

Flustered and confused, Regis turns his sight back to the girl. There she stands, alone. She seems much older this time; no longer a child, but a tall, slender, and beautiful young lady. Her left arm hangs freely, almost lifelessly, at her side. Her right hand is clenched over her chest; in her hand is the glass stone with the blue jewel that the boy gave her. Her face is a dead blank stare, lips neither a smile nor a frown. She is looking straight into Regis' eyes. He, too, looks back at her eyes. Yet disturbingly he sees nothing; previously lively glittering oceans, now an almost lifeless empty abyss, she is looking at him yet she seems like she is merely staring into space. As if waiting for something to appear in the distance. As if waiting for Regis to say something.

She slowly turns around and begins to walk away. This time each slow and minute step does bring her further off into the darkness.

Regis begins to panic.

"Come on, boy! Time is not on your side!" the double's loud, echoing voice taunts again. "One or the other you may claim, but not both. So which shall it be?"

Regis looks at the red glow. Full mastery of the ways of magic. A perfect culmination of ten long and arduous years of self-study, research, and field practice. An achievement that only the greatest few in the history of man are capable of. The power of the gods.

Regis looks at the blue glow. A sacred memory. A beautiful and rare companionship. A development of unexplained and unexplainable feelings of closeness. A promise made by a man to a woman.

That which he must do is now clear to him. He begins to run towards the light.


End file.
